Personal Experience
by Tayfilly
Summary: A bit more insight into why Alex Eames feels the way she does about foul mouthed, promiscuous drunks, as revealed in season 5's 'Vacancy'.
1. Chapter 1

Personal Experience

by Tayfilly

rated for some language. no profit being made here, recognizable characters and concepts not mine.

* * *

Alex is nine years old on the late spring night when she awakens in the darkness of the room she shares with her sister Molly, kicking her blankets off in a flash of heat and perspiration. Molly's breathing is still deep and regular and for a moment Alex is not sure what has awakened her. She tries to remember the dream that has just ended abruptly, but all she feels is hot and damp, not afraid.

And then she notices the yellow light underneath the door and hears the voices down the hall, muffled but still obviously urgent. Her mother trying to whisper, her father trying to sound like everything is fine, like it is normal for people in his house to be awake at three in the morning. And her aunt, her father's sister, trying loudly to remember the words to "Jingle Bells." It is _not_ Christmastime, Alex thinks irritably as she rolls over and presses her hands to her ears.

Pretty soon, though, she realizes that she is going to have to get out of bed and use the bathroom, and that she will not be able to wait long enough for all of the grownups to finally go to bed before she ventures down the hall. She creeps to the door, silently opens it a crack, and peers out, blinking hard as her eyes adjust to the brightness.

Her aunt is slumped in the hallway across from the bathroom and both of her parents are hovering above her. Alex hasn't seen the woman for about two weeks this time and she looks dirty, her skin red and puffy, her shirt cut low in the front. She looks, sounds, and smells like the homeless people Alex has seen crouched on the streets when they go into the city. Her dad is trying to persuade his sister to stand up so that he might usher her downstairs to sleep in the basement bedroom, and her mom's arms are crossed across her chest beneath her pale, pinched face.

"Come on Suzy," her father is pleading. Alex recognizes it as pleading, even though his voice is free of the slightest hint of wheedling desperation. "Come downstairs to bed. Let us help you. You'll feel better tomorrow."

Alex watches her aunt's face twist with loathing in her father's direction. "Don't _need _your help," she slurs. "Not one fucking bit. _Fine_." Her eyes unfocus again and her head lolls on her shoulders like a bowling ball. The laborious Christmas carol efforts begin anew. Her brother sighs and her sister-in-law leans back against the wall, defeated.

Alex wants nothing more than to close the door, go back to bed, and pretend she never saw this little scene. Her aunt has floated in and out of the house since early last summer and although Alex has seen her come home drunk many, many times, this is the first time she has been jerked out of her sleep to watch her parents trying to cope. She's never been the only one watching before; usually there is quite an audience, what with Molly and her three brothers standing by too. Somehow it is worse to be the only witness, and a hidden one at that.

As much as she would like to retreat back into the darkness of her bedroom, Alex is becoming painfully aware of just how badly she needs to pee. She expels a long breath, opens the door a little more and slips out, her bare feet quiet on the hardwood floor. Her father turns at the movement. "Alex, honey," he says, and she stops in her tracks when she sees the worry lines deepen across his forehead.

Her mother turns too, at his words. "Oh, sweetheart," she sighs, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. "Can't you sleep?"

Alex is refusing to look down at the pathetic, reeking lump of her aunt down on the floor. "I just need to—"

Both of her parents look toward the bathroom. "Baby, go down to our bedroom and use the one in there," says her mother, keeping her voice low. "Aunt Suzy might need this one."

"Okay." She hurries down the hallway in her cotton pajamas. Her parents' bed is mussed. It is obvious that they had already gone to bed by the time her aunt showed up tonight. Sometimes, Alex knows, her father has waited up, or occasionally even gone out very late to look for her. But it's been a few weeks; when she'd descend on them again was anybody's guess.

When Alex is finished she comes out of the bathroom and finds her brother Andy stretched out on his back on top of the tangle of blankets on their parents' bed. Andy is twelve, a year younger than their brother Jack and almost two years older than Molly. Tommy is the youngest at only five. The four years between Alex and Tommy represent a time when their family had seemed complete in all respects.

"Hey," says Alex, and collapses on the bed next to Andy. He reaches out halfheartedly to poke her in the ribs; undeterred, she snuggles against his ribcage. "Did Jack and Tommy wake up too?"

Andy yawns. "Jack and I woke up and watched out the window while this car pulled up front and this creepy guy dragged her out and dumped her on the front porch. He went back to sleep, though. And Tommy—you know the shrimp sleeps like a rock."

She nods. Tommy doesn't do anything halfway. He is loud, messy, and determined not to be left out. Alex is his favorite person to follow around and irritate, Molly always having been a bit of a tattletale and Jack and Andy harder to pin down since they started middle school.

"I was hoping she was gone for good this time," says Alex. She does not feel guilty for speaking badly about her aunt, although this is not something she would say out loud in front of her dad. The year's drunken rages and lingering rank odors of vomit and whiskey in the basement have not obliterated her memory of what their house was like before her aunt moved back to New York from Philadelphia.

Andy shrugs. "Yeah. But Dad'll never kick her out," he replies. "They'll all go to bed soon anyway. She was already puking when I came in here a couple minutes ago."

Alex wriggles closer to Andy in disgust. "Good ol' boozy Aunt Suzy," she mutters.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Saturday morning breakfast is always a bit of a zoo in the Eames house, and when Alex opens her eyes she can hear from her bedroom that the kitchen is already abuzz with boisterous voices. She rubs at her eyes, which are slightly dry and scratchy—proof that she is really remembering the events from just a few hours ago, that everything wasn't just a dream. Alex feels her stomach clench with a familiar dull ache, knowing that her aunt is back in the house.

The morning light has given the bedroom that particular hazy gray brightness that makes it difficult to see details, and Alex peers across at her sister's bed. It's empty, she finally discerns. In fact, it's already been _made_, on a _Saturday_. Alex rolls her eyes at the neatly tucked sheets and the perfectly fluffed pillow, envisioning what kind of day it's going to be. She needs food, she decides, both to ease her stomach and to give her the strength to deal with her princess of a sister.

Deliberately leaving a jumbled twist of blankets in her wake, Alex pads down the hallway to the kitchen, where she finds her father standing at the stove and her mother dishing out scrambled eggs onto the plate in front of Tommy. Her mother is usually the one who does all the cooking, but Saturday mornings are her father's specialty. Alex slides into her chair, between Molly and Jack. All four of her siblings are systematically destroying enormous piles of pancakes and shoveling in the eggs like they haven't been fed since last weekend.

Alex quickly claims several pancakes for herself before they can be devoured by anyone else and gets to work with the butter and syrup. Jack pinches her on the thigh, just above her bony knee. "What are you, Sleeping Beauty? It's practically afternoon."

She ignores him, reaching for the orange juice.

Her father turns from the stove, raises an eyebrow in their direction. Jack coughs. "I mean, good morning, Alex."

Alex nods. She pushes a snarl of dark blonde hair out of her eyes and looks over at her two older brothers. "Is she up yet?"

She is trying to keep her voice low so that only Jack and Andy will hear her, but Tommy has hearing like a bat. "Nope, she's still sleeping it off!" He sings this out and grins at everyone devilishly, his entire face smeared with syrup.

"Watch it, pal," says their father, flipping pancakes with just slightly more force than necessary.

"Yeah, Tommy," says Molly. She is carefully cutting her pancakes into perfect triangles. Looking at her plate makes Alex want to pour syrup in her perfect hair. "You shouldn't talk like that."

"Like what?" Andy blinks at Molly. "Like Aunt Suzy's a drunk?"

Alex winces. Her father whirls from the stove, advancing toward the table like a grizzly bear. "Andy, I swear to God—"

"All right, that's enough," her mother declares, setting the fruit bowl down on the table like an exclamation point. "Just eat your breakfast, all of you, unless you want to spend the weekend cleaning bathrooms."

Their father turns back to the batter. Molly smirks at Andy. Across the table, Tommy picks up a pancake, bites three holes in it, and holds it up to his face. He sticks his tongue through the bottom hole. Jack and Alex regard him wordlessly. Some days, she might have laughed, or at least stuck her own tongue out in his direction. But not today.

Breakfast is nearly over and Jack and Andy have already taken their dishes to the sink and disappeared, saying something vague about a ball game in the park, by the time that the door to the basement eases open and Aunt Suzy appears at the top of the stairs. She murmurs a foggy greeting and drifts over to the coffee pot. By this time both of Alex's parents are seated at the table, and all five of them are watching as her aunt sits gingerly in Andy's chair.

"Good morning," Molly chirps. Alex grits her teeth.

Both hands on her cup, Suzy looks up, laughs haltingly. "What's everybody looking at? Can't a girl drink a cup of coffee?"

Alex stares at her aunt, hating her bloodshot eyes, greasy hair, and blotchy skin. She's seen photos of Suzy and her father and their brothers when they were young, and she was pretty, bright-eyed, and confident. Now the sight of her face brings the dull ache back to Alex's stomach.

Her mother is wiping at the sticky expanse of Tommy's face. It is an exercise in futility. He pulls away, eyes his father, and smiles winningly at Suzy. His eyelashes are so, so long, Alex notices. "Where've you been, Aunt Suzy?"

She grimaces, clears her throat. Alex watches her father sigh. Her mother puts the napkin down. "Do you want some breakfast, Suzy?"

"No, no thank you. Don't trouble yourself. Coffee's fine."

Alex toys with the remains of her breakfast as her parents begin to clean up the mess on the countertops, pushing the soggy, golden bits of pancake around with her fork. She tries to imagine anyone troubling them as much as their aunt already has.

"What's the matter, Alex?" Suzy sets her cup down. "Cat got your tongue? You look kind of peaked."

Alex takes a deep breath. "Yeah, well, I didn't get as much sleep last night as I usually do." Molly pokes her, hard, right in the kidney. She sets her jaw.

"Oh?" Unbelievably, her aunt is looking innocently back at her. "Why's that? Did you and your sister stay up giggling all night?"

It is all Alex can do to keep her mouth from falling open. First of all, she is _not_ a giggler. She has forgotten about Suzy's morning-after amnesia. Or maybe she's just never really believed in it in the first place.

She stands up, emboldened by her incredulity. "No, see, somebody woke me up about three o'clock. In the hallway." She feels her father's gaze on her back, but both of her parents are unexpectedly quiet.

Her aunt leans back in the chair, spreads her hands out, palms to the ceiling. "I give up, Alex. You're saying it was me that woke you up? Well, I'm sorry to hear that. But you have to understand—I'd been drinking. More than I'd planned. So I couldn't help how I was."

Alex fights to stop herself from shuddering visibly. She'd been drinking. Like it was an _explanation_.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

The thing is, Alex reflects fretfully as she climbs a tree in the park with an apple and a book later that afternoon, she has always been glad to have the family that she does. She's always felt lucky that they are hers, and that she is theirs. She has a friend at school named Nancy who is an only child, and every time Alex visits her house she feels unsettled by the quiet and the absence of clutter. Molly has been known to wish out loud to be the only one so that she might not have to share her clothes with her sister or wait her turn for the bathroom, but Alex has honestly never felt this way, at least not for more than a few minutes in a row.

Sure, Jack and Andy like to pull her hair and clobber her with their pillows and gross her out with smelly, rotting things they've found and try to tickle her to death. They're loud and big and they have a passel of friends just like them who come over and eat all the food in the house, laughing raucously with their mouths full. But who else besides her brothers would teach her dirty jokes or share their car magazines with her?

Alex gets tired of being called cute to Molly's pretty, and she can't imagine that she and her blue-eyed sister will ever have much in common. She resists Molly's attempts to braid her hair and paint her nails in various girly shades of pink and lavender. But sometimes she is relieved to have an ally against all the boys, someone who will shut the bedroom door and pretend with her that they have moved to a horse farm somewhere in the country.

And Tommy—Alex knows that things would be simpler without him. He's really a pest most of the time, making explosive messes, crying when he doesn't get his way. Often, Alex and her three older siblings will operate as a tight unit when it comes to things like doing chores or playing games, and inevitably Tommy will do something to screw it up. But still, somehow, Alex can never quite forget the day that her parents brought him home from the hospital, a tiny, perfect surprise to all of them.

She begged to be the first to hold him and then stared into his little rosebud of a face, awed by the knowledge that she was no longer the baby. And even now there are times when Tommy will be frustrated and upset and driving everyone crazy and Alex is the only one who can talk any sense to him and calm him down. Every so often she wakes up to find that he has crept into bed with her, his cheeks flushed and damp from a nightmare.

Perched in the wide fork of the tree, Alex licks the apple juice that is running down her wrist and finds her place in _My Friend Flicka_. The book is really her sister's and she will have to read fast; borrowing things without asking is an old, tired fight in their house, but one that never seems to end.

Her parents are so inured to the squabbling by now that they usually only referee the loudest arguments. Both of them came from large families too and Alex knows they are proud of their sandy-haired, quick-tempered squad of kids. Her big, cop dad and her small but mighty mother have always been a close, united pair, wanting mostly the same life and the same things for all of them.

Which is why her aunt's presence in their house this year has been so profoundly disturbing. It isn't just that Jack and Andy had to move out of their room in the basement and in with Tommy to make room for Suzy. Or that Molly has spent most of the year trying to ingratiate herself to their aunt no matter what her mood or state of sobriety, which Alex finds positively baffling. Or even the cursing and the stench and slosh of puke and the strange men appearing on their doorstep. The worst part is that Alex's parents are not in agreement about Suzy, and never have been.

When Alex's mother agreed to let Suzy stay with them for a week or so when she was in the process of moving from Philadelphia, it was immediately clear she was not in any state to go anywhere on her own. Alex's dad maintained that she just needed a little help from them to get back on her feet, that soon she would be fine and everything would go back to normal.

And of course, nearly a whole year later, here they are. Alex remembers the enormous, screaming fight that her parents had on the afternoon of New Year's Day, a few hours after Suzy stumbled home reeking of booze and rancid sweat, swore at Molly for offering to get her a glass of water, and slammed the door to the basement so hard that three glasses broke in the kitchen.

Alex's mother cried as her father scraped the broken glass into a dustpan after the yelling was over, saying that the kind of help Suzy needed wasn't theirs to give her, that it wasn't fair to their family, to the kids. Alex and Jack huddled together in the hallway, listening as their dad gripped his forehead in his hands and insisted that he couldn't give up on his sister, that she was family too. Their parents were gone and Suzy had come to him, he said. He couldn't just turn her away.

Hearing his words and the slight shaking of his voice made Alex's anger at her father melt away all at once. She loves her dad so much that it hurts a little bit every day to watch him leave for work, now that she is old enough to imagine all of the possibilities of what might happen to him. It makes her indescribably proud to think of what a brave, good man he is. She knows that he loves each one of his kids more than his own life, and now she realizes that he cannot help how much he loves his sister too.

Alex wedges her apple core into a knot on one of the tree's branches and leans back, looking up through the lush green leaves at the hazy blue sky. Her anger is far from gone, however. It's just different now. Alex loves her family too much not to resent what has become of it.

TBC


End file.
